Dreaming Wide Awake
by Roderica Edelstein
Summary: It is already dark by the time they stumble contentedly out of the restaurant, bellies full of food and bodies warm with perhaps a little more wine than is wise. Lovino looks up at the black sky in shock, sudden dread hitting him like a jet of icy water. 'You idiot, Lovino,' he berates himself. 'You absolute idiot. You know it's not safe around here after dark.'


It is already dark by the time they stumble contentedly out of the restaurant, bellies full of food and bodies warm with perhaps a little more wine than is wise. Lovino looks up at the black sky in shock, sudden dread hitting him like a jet of icy water. _'You idiot, Lovino,'_ he berates himself. _'You absolute idiot. You know it's not safe around here after dark.'_

Beside him, Antonio – apparently unconcerned by their predicament – chuckles, _'__¡Por Dios!_ We must have been in there for hours, Lovi. Guess I just don't notice time passing when I'm with y-'

'Come on,' Lovino interrupts, grabbing his arm, ignoring the hot blush that Antonio's words have kindled in his cheeks._ This isn't the time for compliments. _'Let's get home.'

Antonio doesn't protest as he is dragged along, and although Lovino's urgency seems to bemuse him, he doesn't ask the reason for it. Instead, he prattles happily about the meal. 'I told you that you should have had the seafood one, Lovi. Don't think I've ever eaten so well in my life…'

The familiar tones of Antonio's chatter calm Lovino a little; his heart, which is hammering in his chest like a mad thing, slows to something like its usual pace, and he loosens his grip on Antonio's arm. _'We're not that far away from home now,'_ he reasons as they turn the corner. Maybe they will make it back safely, after all.

But just as he begins to hope that they will manage to avoid trouble, a cry of terror splits the evening air. 'No, please, I beg of you – _ho una famiglia – ho una famiglia!_' _I have a family._ The man's garbled words give way to an unintelligible mixture of sobbing and screaming as fear clearly overtakes him.

Antonio, eyes wide with shock, detaches himself from Lovino's grasp and turns away, drawn towards the sound.

'Toni!' Lovino hisses. 'What the hell d'you think you're doing? Let's get out of here. Now.' And he takes hold of Antonio's arm again, intending to drag him away.

But Antonio is stronger than he is, always has been, and instead it is Lovino who finds himself being steered. Steered towards the alley from which the cries are emanating. 'We have to help him, Lovi!' Antonio exclaims. 'Come on!'

Lovino doesn't move. 'There's nothing we can do. We need to _go. Now, _Toni. Toni!' The last word is a strangled shout; Antonio has pulled free again and taken off towards the narrow alley. 'Toni, _bastardo_, come back!' he orders as loudly as he dares. 'You don't understand. If you go down there you'll _die_, Toni. You'll fucking _die_, you get that? And for what? Probably just some idiot who upset someone he shouldn't have. It's not worth – TONI!'

The Spaniard disappears, swallowed up by the alley, his soft reply almost lost in the sound of his footsteps and the frantic sobbing ahead of them. 'I don't care who it is, Lovi. There's someone in trouble down there, and I'm going to help them.'

Lovi has no choice but to follow, cursing his own carelessness in forgetting the time, cursing the wretched idiot who's about to drag him and Antonio into a mess which is not of their making, and above all cursing Antonio's naivety, his well-intentioned foolhardiness (which the less charitable might call stupidity). _You've lived here for five years now, and you still don't get it, do you?_ Perhaps Antonio will never quite comprehend the danger that stalks these streets, never understand that sometimes surviving means ducking below the parapet and thanking God that it's some other poor bastard this time who's about to get scalded by the hot water he's got himself into. It's not that Lovino is indifferent to what's going on – far from it. He hates the violence just as much as Antonio does. But over the years he has learnt that sometimes it pays to be a little heartless if he wants to keep his own heart beating.

'_It's not too late_,' he tells himself desperately. _'If I just grab Toni and run – you stupid bastard, Toni, you stupid, stupid bastard…_' He resolves then and there that it is time to stop dragging his feet and leave the city for good, like they've been meaning to for years. _'If we get out of this alive, we're leaving. We can take Nonno's old flat in Rome, or go and join Feli, or move to Spain, it doesn't matter. But I'm not staying here for one fucking second longer than I have to. Not after this.'_

Still a little unsteady – the aftereffect of the meal, and more to the point, the wine – he lurches round a bend in the little winding street. And his heart stops.

The sobbing man is kneeling on the floor in front of him, facing another figure whose outstretched arm is levelling a pistol at the cowering man's head – and standing between them is Antonio.

His arms are spread wide and his palms are open to show that he presents no threat, and although Lovino can see him trembling he smiles as he says brightly, 'I'm sure we can work this ou-'

He is cut off by the shot which sends him staggering backwards, one hand fluttering to his chest in something like disbelief.

'TONI!' Lovino screams, dashing forward to catch the Spaniard, who collapses into his arms. Everything around them seems to stop as Lovino sinks to his knees, clutching desperately at Antonio. The two other men in the alley are frozen in place, and the only sounds in Lovino's ears are Antonio's sickeningly shallow breaths and his own voice, screaming.

'_Mio Dio, _Toni, _NO!' _He stares down in impotent terror at the tiny ragged hole in Antonio's shirt front; the bright fabric is already soaked half scarlet, and the hunger with which his lover's red blood spreads out from that awful epicentre shows no sign of abating. '_No, no, no…'_

_This can't be happening._ In desperation he presses both hands to the wound, gagging as the slippery liquid gushes through his fingers. '_M-merda_,' he whispers, panic roaring through his mind and drowning out any coherent thought. That's Antonio's _blood_ all over his hands, goddammit. His lover is dying and there is nothing, fucking _nothing_, that he can do about it.

He presses down harder but the blood won't stop spurting out, taunting him, reminding him just how powerless, how helpless, how utterly _useless_ he is here. 'Stay with me, Toni. Please. _Please…!_' Even the sound of his own voice seems to mock him, echoing hollowly in the black alley. _Antonio is going to die. Don't think you can stop it happening, Lovino Vargas. Besides, it's your own fault, isn't it?_

'Lo…vi…' Antonio's face is contorted in agony, his breathing so laboured that even the two syllables he manages to force out leave him gasping for the air which his ruined lungs can no longer hold. His eyes, wild with pain, search for Lovino's and lock on to them for a moment before drooping shut; he tries to raise a hand, but the effort is too much, and he lets it fall again silently.

Lovino lifts one hand from the bullet hole – it's not like he's having any effect, anyway – and intertwines his bloody fingers with Antonio's. 'Sh-shh, Toni. You shouldn't… you shouldn't talk…' In vain he tries to stifle the sobs which well up inside him until he can't hold them back any more. They shake his whole frame and he knows he's hurting Antonio even more, he can see it, but he can't stop himself; the sobs tear through him, uncontained and uncontainable, blurring his vision and catching in his throat.

Lovino's tears seem to distress Antonio more than his own pain; he grips Lovino's hand and, fighting for every breath, murmurs, '_Lo… sien…to, Lo…vi. Te… quier-'_

Lovino waits for the last syllable, but it never comes. 'T-Toni?' He squeezes the hand that's lying in his; no response, and Antonio's fingers are limp in his grasp. 'Toni! TONI!' He starts to shake Antonio by the shoulders, to no avail. 'P-please, T-Toni. C-come on, you b-bastard, wake up! Toni! _TONI!'_

But it's no use. He's gone.

The world falls to pieces around him and he looks up, blinded by futile tears, searching out the face of the one who has taken everything away from him; he doesn't even notice that the fourth man, the one Antonio was so desperate to help in the first place, has seen his chance and run off into the night.

It takes a moment or two for his mind, exhausted by fear and grief, to process what he is seeing. When he finally realises who it is standing over him and brandishing the gun that killed his Antonio, he cries out in horror, one long scream that seems to continue long after he has surely run out of breath to fuel it.

The man is him.

He doesn't hear the shot, or feel it, but suddenly he is falling, only the floor doesn't seem to be there under him any more, and the air is no longer dark but a dazzling white that hurts his eyes. He can no longer feel the weight of Antonio's body in his arms; he clutches randomly at the air, at anything, at nothing, wondering if this is what death is like, if he is already dead.

Squinting against the glare, he can just make out Antonio's face above him – no longer twisted and pale with pain, just a little weary. Worry clouds the bright green eyes, too, and he wants to tell Antonio it's okay, they're together now, that's what matters, but he is still sobbing, and can't get the words out.

It is Antonio who speaks first, his voice seeming to come from somewhere very far away. 'Lovi? Lovi, are you okay? What's wrong, _mi tomate_?'

The glare behind him is softening as Lovino's eyes grow accustomed to the light, and the surroundings beginning to come into focus are oddly familiar. He blinks away tears, and the blurred shapes resolved themselves into headboard, lamp, bedside table. 'Lovi?' Antonio gently asks again as Lovino sits up shakily, staring at his lover in confusion. 'It's alright, _cariño_. I'm here.'

'W-what the h-hell just h-happened?' Lovino wonders aloud, and Antonio chuckles.

'Just what I was going to ask you, Lovi! After all, you're the one who woke me up.' When he sees Lovino's look of total incomprehension, he continues, 'You've been calling my name, and shaking me, and shouting at me to '_come on, you bastard, wake up'_ for the last five minutes.'

Suddenly the penny drops, and the twin shocks of his relief and the awful memory hit Lovino with such force that he is overtaken by another paroxysm of sobbing. 'Y-you were d-dead!' he wails, burying his face in Antonio's chest, still half-expecting to find an ugly wound where there is, of course, only smooth skin. 'Y-you were d-dead, and it was _my_ f-fault, fuck it, _m-my f-fault_…' His words trail off as he dissolves into sobs again.

Antonio wraps his arms around the Italian and hugs Lovino's body close to his. 'Shh, _querido_, shh. It's okay. It was only a dream. I'm here.' He puts one hand on either side of Lovino's tear-stained face and tilts it upwards so their eyes lock. 'See, Lovi? I'm safe. And so are you.'

'B-but I… I k-killed you, Toni!' he howls. _Even in my fucking _dreams_,_ _I ended up hurting you._ Still shuddering with sobs, the disbelief not quite gone from his face, Lovino reaches out tentatively and touches Antonio's cheek. The skin is warm to the touch, and a little bristly where Antonio hasn't shaved for a few days; the feel of it is as familiar to him as the sound of his own voice. '_Mio caro_…' he whispers. 'It's really you…'

'Of course it is, silly,' Antonio smiles. 'Do you seriously think I'd leave you like that?' And he plants a kiss on Lovino's brow; it tickles slightly, and the touch sends little tendrils of heat through the Italian's body.

Slowly, Lovino's sobs begin to subside. Face flushed, he draws back his hand from Antonio's face and wriggles out of the Spaniard's embrace. 'What time is it, anyway?' he demands.

Antonio glances at the clock on the bedside table and whistles softly. 'It's three o'clock in the morning… We should try to get back to sleep, Lovi.' He tries to put his arm round Lovino, but his lover bats him away and rolls over so that he is curled right on the edge of the bed. Now it is Antonio's turn to be confused. 'Lovi?' He reaches out again and lays a hand on Lovino's shoulder, but the Italian shrugs it off and hunches over even further, out of reach.

'Lovi?' Antonio says again, hesitantly, unsure what it is that he has done or said to make Lovino act like this. Lovino's face is turned away from him, but Antonio can tell – from the tip of Lovino's ear, poking through his tousled hair – that he is blushing furiously. _He's embarrassed? But why?_

A last weak hiccupping sob shakes Lovino's frame and the Italian stiffens. Antonio hears him whisper '_Cazzo'_ – _fuck_ – his voice tiny but harsh nonetheless; the sound makes his heart twist in his chest and there is nothing he wants more than to reach out and reassure him, but he knows that Lovino will only push him away again. _Please, Lovi, just let me help you,_ he pleads silently. _Just tell me what's wrong._ _Please?_

Lovino rubs his eyes violently with his fist, and suddenly Antonio understands. 'There's no shame in tears, _mi cariño_,' he wants to say. But Lovino is clearly mortified, and to broach the subject with him would be madness when he's in such a state. So instead he says sleepily, 'Come here, silly,' and wraps his arms around Lovino before the Italian has a chance to move.

Lovino struggles feebly for a few moments, but the tears have left him feeling hollow and weak, and besides

– _Antonio is stronger than he is, always has been, and –_

He forces away the memory of the dream and rolls back over to face Antonio, who smiles brightly at him through his evident tiredness. '_Mi dispiace_,' – _sorry – _he mumbles, hating the words, hating the fierce blush in his cheeks that refuses to die down.

'For what, _querido_?'

_For being so fucking _weak_ all the time? For crying like some pathetic _bambino _over a bad dream?_ 'Sorry for waking you up,' is what he finally mutters, knowing that Antonio hears what he leaves unspoken, that Antonio understands.

'That doesn't matter, Lovi!' the Spaniard chuckles, stroking Lovino's hair in a way which does nothing to calm the flush in his cheeks. 'But we should really try to get some sleep now, _si_?'

As Lovino opens his mouth to reply, he suddenly feels the urge to yawn, and he realises just how exhausted he is. Antonio hugs him tightly and this time Lovino doesn't even try to resist; he is sleepy, drained from crying, and anyway the warm embrace _is _comforting. The kiss that Antonio touches to his cheek tickles a little, and Lovino can't help smiling, even though he tries to keep his scowl in place.

'Toni?' he says softly.

'Si?'

'You need to shave, _bastardo._'

Antonio just laughs as he reaches over to turn off the light, knowing – as ever – what it is Lovino is trying to say. '_Yo tambien te quiero_, Lovi.' _I love you too._


End file.
